The Playboy Boss's Chosen Bride

‘No.’ He’d cocked his head, considering what might suit her well. ‘Maybe a fringe and wispy bits framing your face and neck. Discuss it with your hairdresser. What you need is a trendy style to jazz yourself up. Understood?’

She made no comment on his suggestions, cutting straight to the major point. ‘Are you offering me the job?’

‘Yes. Providing that…’

‘I fit the image.’ She’d stood up and held out her hand to seal the agreement—all brisk business. ‘Understood and agreed upon, Mr Devila. When do you want me to start?’

She had certainly socked it to him with the image, Jake reflected, putting on his usual casual gear for work. Mel Rossi was not only salt, but pepper, too—red-hot pepper when she put her mind to it.

She’d come strutting in that first day, looking very with it and sexy, her new hair-do swinging, the fringe on her high-heeled boots swinging, not to mention her curvaceous hips in the mini-skirt swinging, and the large ornate buckle of her low-slung belt had been centred just above the apex of her thighs, conjuring up images that had nothing at all to do with company business. Every guy who worked for him had been distracted.

But she’d just sailed around as though what she wore was nothing more nor less than a stipulated uniform, completely impersonal. She didn’t flirt. There was no female wrangling, getting smitten guys to do any part of her job for her. She was Miss Efficiency. Had been from the word go. And Jake had to live with what he had brought upon himself.

So he had developed the game. Battle of the sexes. Exciting, exhilarating, sweetly satisfying. It could be said that Mel was the sex he had when he wasn’t having sex. All in the mind and that was where it had to stay. However tempted he was at times, getting physical with her would be a big mistake. Any number of women were willing to share his bed. There was only one Mel Rossi and he didn’t want to lose the delicious sizzle of the contest between them.

The idea that had come to him last night was sublime.

Mel wouldn’t just sizzle, she would burn.

Jake could hardly wait for today’s battle to be joined.

Merlina checked her appearance in the full-length mirror attached to the door of her clothes cupboard. Floaty, almost ankle-length skirts were in, a welcome change from the minis which invariably made her feel uncomfortably exposed to Jake Devila’s endlessly provocative gaze. Not that this outfit would stop him from looking her over and smiling that smug little smile of his, taking personal credit for jazzing up her image. Personal satisfaction, too.

It always got under her skin but she never let it show. She held it firmly in her mind that she dressed for the job, not for him, though if she was completely honest with herself, she had become addicted to flouting her femininity in front of him, addicted to the sexual charge that simmered between them. And it wasn’t good for her.

It dominated her life far too much, causing her to lose interest in other men. Here she was, looking down the barrel of being thirty years of age, and her current life was completely focused on a sexy devil who had absolutely no interest in getting married and having children. If ever a man epitomised the label of swinging bachelor it was Jake Devila. And he had all the attributes to go with it.

He was gorgeous; big brown eyes twinkling with wickedness, ridiculously long curly eyelashes that a woman would kill for, expressive eyebrows that worked like exclamation marks to whatever he was saying, very thick, finger-inviting, wavy black hair, a strong straight nose, a strong square chin, a soft sensual and highly provocative mouth and dimples in his cheeks.

Dimples!

Merlina wished she wasn’t so hopelessly fascinated by them.

The rest of him was eye candy, too. He had the physique of a prime athlete; broad shoulders, muscles where there should be muscles, not an ounce of flab anywhere, his whole body perfectly proportioned to his height, which was also perfect—tall without being too overpoweringly tall.

The man was born with not only a silver spoon in his mouth but a whole canteen of silver cutlery, and everything dished out to him on a silver platter. He came from a very wealthy family and he’d made millions himself with Signature Sounds, his own clever idea, tapping into pop culture. At thirty-five he had the world at his feet, including a stack of beautiful women—topline models, A-list socialites, television stars, all rolling through his social diary and no doubt his bed.

Despite meticulously carrying out her duties as his personal assistant, Merlina suspected Jake regarded her as his play-thing at work. He liked sparring with her. He liked baiting her. He liked giving her challenging tasks to see if she would perform as requested. The man was a playboy through and through. She knew it, yet couldn’t stop herself from taking pride in successfully jumping through all his hoops and meeting his demands.

He couldn’t defeat her.

No way.

She wouldn’t let him.

Even so, she was more and more acutely aware of having become locked into an obsessive relationship with her boss—the exhilaration, the colour, the excitement he brought to her life. She admired the cleverness of his mind—the way he attacked business situations and fired enthusiastic creativity in his employees. His generosity in always giving recognition and rewards to those who came up with good marketable ideas also won her heartfelt approval.

Being with him was a constant buzz. There was so much about him she loved. And hated. Mostly because he wasn’t ever going to view her as a partner he’d always want at his side. Not for everything. That truth was too clear for her to ignore. Or to hope for it to change. Jake Devila organised his life into games where he held the controlling hand, directing play, and the only game she had a part of was exclusive to the work-place.

Nevertheless, despite this knowledge and all her wary defences, he’d sucked her right into an emotional whirlpool and kept tugging her more deeply into it all the time. If she didn’t climb out of it, she’d end up losing all respect for herself. Eighteen months with Jake Devila was really all she could afford. Her rational mind told her so.

Once she turned thirty, playtime had to be over and the serious business of finding a life partner for raising a family had to begin. She had only so many good child-bearing years, as her Italian papa kept reminding her, muttering that she had already wasted most of them in pursuing highflying careers.

Her sisters were married with families.

Her brothers were married with families.

She wanted that, too…but on her own terms, not her family’s. She had refused to let her father browbeat her into moving straight onto what he considered the appropriate life path for his daughters. Not until she was good and ready, she had vowed. There was no freedom in living up to parental expectations all the time. She had the right to be her own person and find out who she was by herself.

Except she wasn’t her own person around Jake Devila.

She had to face up to that, put a stop to it and move on.

Soon.

Or she’d fritter away what was left of her good child-bearing years, consumed by this dreadfully compulsive attraction to a man who’d never think of sharing the kind of future she really did want deep down in her heart.

‘Merlina, what are you doing?’ her sister called out. ‘The pancakes I cooked for you are getting cold.’

‘I told you I didn’t want any, Sylvana,’ she answered in exasperation, grabbing her handbag from the bed and heading out to the living area of her small apartment.

‘You’re too skinny. You need feeding up.’

Merlina gritted her teeth. Everyone in her family said that and she was fed up with hearing it. Just because they were all happy to be well padded did not make her skinny. She was simply thinner by comparison. The image she had to maintain could not be done with any excess weight and her figure was naturally curvy, which made following fashion trends challenging enough as it was.

‘I had some yoghurt and fruit earlier on. I don’t want anything else,’ she stated, more than ready to say goodbye to the sister who’d come up to Sydney from Griffith to have laser treatment on her eyes, and who was staying overnight so she wouldn’t feel rushed this morning.

Sylvana was seated at the kitchen servery, focused on feeding herself a stack of pancakes dripping with maple syrup. Already plump and working on getting plumper, Merlina thought as she said, ‘I have to get going. I hope your short-sightedness gets fixed so you won’t have to wear glasses any more.’

A fork loaded with pancake was halfway to her mouth which stayed gaping as she stared in shock at Merlina. ‘You’re not wearing that to work!’

That was obviously the outfit she’d so carefully put together; the long floaty skirt in a pretty floral pattern of greens and pinks, a woven pink-tan belt circling her hips, a dark green cropped cotton singlet, several long gold chains dangling from her neck, gold hoops in her ears and high-heeled dark green sandals on her feet.

Of course, her sister was wearing her usual respectable black: tailored pants right up to her waist and a long, loose T-shirt that covered up unsightly rolls of flesh.

‘I’m expected to dress like this for my job, Sylvana,’ she bit out, feeling her cheeks flame at the implied criticism.

‘With bare skin around your waist?’

‘It’s a hipster skirt which happens to be very fashionable right now.’

‘Your navel would show if the belt slipped a bit.’

‘So what?’

‘Papa would have a fit if he saw you displaying yourself like that in public.’

‘This is the city, Sylvana. I don’t have to answer to the Italian community in Griffith. No tongues are going to wag about me here, and yours had better not wag when you go home. Understood?’